Chương 2
Someone near the cake whispered, “Jesus.”
Victor approached.
“You’re making a mistake,” he told Elena.
She looked at him.
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
“You’re listening to him.”
“I asked my husband to hand me something.”
Victor’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Thomas noticed.
Elena noticed Thomas noticing.
A small, ridiculous thought came into her mind: the peonies were wrong.
She had spent twenty minutes the previous afternoon discussing whether the ivory centerpieces were too cream against the linens. She had cared. She had actually cared.
Now there was an old photograph of her mother in her husband’s hand, and a man she had been told was dead stood ten feet away bleeding lightly from the neck.
“Damien.”
He gave her the locket.
She held it carefully.
The photograph had been folded at one corner. Her mother wore denim shorts and a white tank top. Thomas was younger, broad-faced, sunburned, with dark hair falling over his forehead.
The child on his knee was missing one front tooth.
Elena remembered losing that tooth.
Not the day itself. Something smaller.
A blue cup.
A kitchen table.
A man telling her not to push the loose tooth with her tongue because she would make it bleed again.
Her knees felt suddenly unreliable.
Nora touched her elbow.
Elena pulled away, then immediately regretted it.
“Sorry.”
“You don’t need to be.”
“I do.”
Nora’s concern remained restrained. “The library is empty. It has a door.”
Victor said, “There’s nothing to discuss.”
Thomas looked at him.
“You always did like deciding that for everybody.”
Victor’s face changed by almost nothing.
Damien stepped forward. “Don’t talk to my father.”
Thomas glanced at him.
“You just tore something off my neck, son. I think etiquette’s already having a bad night.”
A few guests looked down.
One man coughed into his fist.
Damien’s cheeks colored.
Elena had never seen anyone make Damien look foolish without raising his voice.
She did not enjoy it.
That surprised her.
“Library,” she said.
Damien stared at her.
“Now.”
Victor started to speak.
Elena looked at him.
“You too.”
Thomas hesitated.
For the first time since the locket fell, he looked uncertain.
Not frightened.
Uncertain.
That frightened Elena more.
“You came all this way,” she said. “You’re going to explain yourself.”
Thomas nodded once.
“All right.”
The hotel library was designed to suggest that rich people still read. Dark shelves held decorative first editions no guest had ever opened. A marble fireplace burned gas without heat. Nora closed the double doors after the five of them entered and stationed herself beside them.
Victor looked at her.
“This is a family matter.”
Nora did not blink. “Mrs. Cross asked me to stay.”
Elena had not.
She almost corrected her.
Then she saw Damien’s expression and let it stand.
Victor turned to Thomas.
“How much?”
Elena stared at him.
Thomas did not.
He seemed almost tired.
“There it is.”
“How much do you want?”
“Victor.”
“No, Elena. This is predictable. He chose your wedding because he wanted maximum pressure.”
Thomas looked around the room.
“Nice place.”
Victor’s lips flattened.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. Nice place.”
“Thomas,” Elena said.
He turned toward her immediately.
That hurt too.
The movement was too natural.
Like he had been waiting years for her to say his name.
She closed the locket.
“Are you my father?”
“Yes.”
“Prove it.”
His eyes dropped briefly.
“Fair.”
He reached toward the inside of his jacket.
Damien moved.
Thomas stopped.
“Easy.”
“Keep your hands where I can see them.”
“You planning to tear off my belt next?”
“Thomas,” Elena said again.
He pulled out a worn leather wallet slowly and removed a plastic sleeve.
Inside it was an old photograph.
Not the same one.
Elena took it.
Her mother sat on a hospital bed holding a newborn. Thomas stood beside her, hair badly cut, looking terrified.
On the back, in blue ink faded almost purple, someone had written:
Tom, Claire, Elena. St. Vincent’s. 11:42 p.m. She has his nose. God help her.
Elena knew the handwriting.
Her mother’s sister had saved three birthday cards Claire had written before she died. Elena had kept them in a box since college.
Victor exhaled through his nose.
“A photograph proves nothing.”
“No,” Thomas said. “Birth certificate would do better.”
“You have one?”
“No.”
Victor smiled faintly.
“Of course.”
Thomas scratched his jaw.
“County does.”
Elena pressed her thumb against the photograph.
“Why was I told you died?”
Victor answered first.
“Because you were five, your mother had just died, and this man vanished.”
Thomas looked at him.
“I didn’t vanish.”
“You went to prison.”
The word struck the room.
Elena’s gaze moved to Thomas.
He nodded.
Victor continued.
“He stole money from the trust your mother left for you.”
“I pled guilty.”
“You were guilty.”
“I said I pled guilty.”
“That distinction matters only to criminals.”
Thomas’s mouth tightened.
Elena looked between them.
“How long?”
“Twenty-eight months,” Thomas said.
“And after?”
Silence.
“How long after?”
Thomas looked at the carpet.
Damien gave a humorless laugh.
“Here we go.”
“Shut up,” Elena said.
Damien stared at her.
She had never said that to him.
Not in nine years.
Not even when she discovered he had read a private email from her therapist because her laptop had been open and, as he later explained, the subject line sounded concerning.
Thomas answered.
“After prison, I tried to see you.”
“How?”
“Letters first.”
“To where?”
“Your aunt’s house in Connecticut.”
“I lived there.”
“I know.”
“I never got letters.”
“I know that now.”
“How?”
Thomas glanced toward Victor.
Victor said, “This is absurd.”
Thomas reached into his wallet again.
Damien made another movement.
Elena raised one hand without looking at him.
Thomas removed a folded photocopy.
“The first six came back.”
Elena opened it.
It was an envelope.
Her aunt Melissa’s old address.
Across the front someone had stamped RETURN TO SENDER.
Under it, handwritten in black ink:
CHILD DOES NOT WISH CONTACT. DO NOT SEND AGAIN.
May you like
Elena stared at the words.
“I was six.”
